


When in Vancouver...

by MsImpala67



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - The French Mistake, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Sam, Dirty Talk, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Wincest - Freeform, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-06 21:45:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12826755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsImpala67/pseuds/MsImpala67
Summary: Dean and Sam are trapped in the French Mistake AU. When they meet Jared's "wife", it becomes clear that Jared and Jensen are more than just co-workers. And that's the opportunity Sam and Dean need to admit they're more than just brothers.





	When in Vancouver...

“ _ This _ ? This is where I live?” Sam stares at the entrance, at the fancy lighting and the ornate staircase, at the flashy, gaudy decorations everywhere. 

“This is where Jared Padalecki lives,” Dean corrects. “Looks like a douche. Might as well have just glued his money to the wall so we could see how much he has.”

Sam doesn’t know why, but he has a sudden urge to defend the place. This Jared guy might be a little...ostentatious, but Sam hopes people aren’t going to hate him the whole time he’s here in this guy’s life. 

And then he remembers. He’s Sam Winchester. Not Jared Padalecki. Who gives a shit who this guy is? They just need to get out of here.

They poke around a little, and then there she is, coming down the staircase like she belongs there. 

Ruby. 

Sam freezes instantly, can feel Dean surge forward next to him without actually moving at all, positioning himself, getting ready for a fight. 

But this isn’t their world. They aren’t Sam and Dean, and she isn’t Ruby. She’s rambling about something, but Sam can barely process anything she’s saying, and then Dean’s smacking him on the arm. 

“You married fake Ruby?”

Sam follows Dean gaze, and to his horror, there it is. A picture of him with Ruby, or rather Jared and whoever this woman is. She’s wearing a wedding dress, he’s in a tux, and those are definitely rings on their fingers. 

What the  _ actual fuck  _ is happening?

The woman doesn’t seem to find Dean’s question strange. She just rolls her eyes and pulls a tiny mirror out of her purse, checks to make sure she doesn’t have lipstick on her teeth. “Yeah, sorry about that. I totally forgot to get rid of all that shit from the photo shoot yesterday.”

“All what shit?” Sam asks.

“All the wedding pictures and stuff. It’s still all over the downstairs. I’ll make sure the cleaning service knows to put it all away.”

“Uh, yeah. Fine,” Sam says, only because she’s looking at him like he needs to answer her. 

“You okay?” she asks, and Sam watches her hands as she puts the mirror back in her purse. She isn’t wearing a wedding ring. And neither is he.

“Yeah, just. So, we...we aren’t married?”

She laughs, loud and teasing, like it’s an old and familiar joke. “Only if they’ve legalized polygamy. But even if they did, we both know that Jensen hates to share.”

Wait. What?

Sam shoots a look at Dean, who looks pale and weak, just like Sam feels.

“So what are you two up to tonight? Just relaxing here? Or are you heading out? It’s probably late enough that you could get a real date in, no cameras around.”

When neither of them answer, both frozen to the spot, mouths hanging open, she puts her hands on her hips. “Okay. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Sam manages, trying to smile to prove his point. He’s certain he looks ridiculous. 

“Whatever you say,” she says, waving one of her hands like she has no desire to get involved. Apparently, she’s a smart woman. “Alright, well, I’ve got all my things from my bedroom, and I’m heading out. I’ll see you in three weeks for that gala, but let me know if something comes up before then.”

She gives them a little wave, still looking at them like she’s concerned about their strange behavior, then leaves. Sam hears the huge door shut behind her, and turns to look at Dean.

“What the hell?” Dean asks.

“I don’t know.”

“No, really. What the hell?”

Sam sighs. “I don’t know, Dean. A fake marriage for publicity?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, and it sounds like Jared is actually married to…”

“To _ you _ .” The words send a secret thrill though Sam, one he hides all the time, saves for the dark moments when he’s alone in a motel shower, hand on his cock. 

_ Stop. _ Not going there. Sam doesn’t have time to indulge any of his fantasies, especially the fucked up, totally insane, _ want to fuck my brother  _ ones. There’s more immediate danger for him to focus on. 

“To me.” Dean echoes. There’s something in his voice. Something...nervous. Not laughing it off as a joke, or getting angry or disgusted by it. Dean is shying away from it. 

And that’s  _ interesting. _

_ STOP _ , Sam silently shouts at himself. _ Focus _ .

They stand there silently, awkwardly, until Dean rubs a hand over his jaw. “I guess we should figure out what’s going on here. Who we are. We should play the part while we figure out how to get the hell out of here, make sure we know what we’re getting into.”

Play the part? Surely he doesn’t mean…

No. Sam shakes his head to clear it, follows Dean as he looks around for an office with a computer. He just wants to know what to expect. That’s it. 

Sam’s heart is still beating too fast as he sits in front of the screen of the nicest laptop he’s ever seen, as close as they always are. Only this time, it feels  _ too _ close, and Sam is hyper aware of Dean leaning over his shoulder, breath tickling Sam’s neck every now and then.

That breath comes faster the longer they search, article after article, video after video of Jared and Jensen. These guys have a serious fanbase. Serious and intense. 

But that’s not the part that’s making Dean breathe differently, and it’s not the part that makes Sam unable to speak as he keeps clicking through, unable to look away. 

It’s the two of them. Together. 

It takes no time at all to find out that Jared is ‘married’ to Genevieve, that Jensen has a wife of his own, too. But they both know it isn’t real, and Jared wonders how anyone ever believed it in the first place. He watches videos of them, of himself, on the red carpet, in interviews, at conventions, and he can’t keep his hands off Jensen. 

They flirt and play and touch like they’re in love, like they’re the kind of intimate people only become after years and years, after knowing everything there is to know about the other person. And they are both so  _ possessive _ of each other, claiming each other all the time, obvious to anyone paying attention. 

Sam feels like he’s been run over by a truck. That’s...that’s them. Those are  _ his _ hands, all over Dean, pushing and grabbing and joking around. Those are  _ Dean’s _ eyes on him, looking at him like he’s desperate for it. That’s them, together, every lustful thought Sam’s ever had written all over Jared’s face. And Jensen is returning every single one of them. 

Dean clears his throat and steps away, breaks the spell, sinks down into the couch on the other side of the room. 

“Well. That’s…”

“Yeah.”

“What a fuckin’ weird universe.”

Sam swallows hard. “Yeah,” he says again. 

“I, uh. We can try to reverse the spell as soon as the stuff comes in tomorrow. I guess we should try to get some sleep now, while we can.”

Sam nods.

“You think this guy has a huge room?” 

Sam grins. “Probably.”

They find it upstairs, enormous and decadent, just like the rest of the house. The bed is twice the size of the largest bed Sam’s ever seen, and looks like a cloud. They both know they’re sharing tonight. It’s too dangerous to split up right now. No way they are going to put walls between them when they aren’t even in the right world. 

Without speaking, they slide into the bed with their clothes on, careful not to look too closely at the pictures of the two of them on the nightstand, at the different sizes of shoes mixed up in the corner.

“Fuuuuck,” Dean groans. “I’ll say this for Pada-whatever. He knows how to sleep.”

Sam lets out his own groan of agreement. This bed is heaven. Maybe comfortable enough to be worth this nightmare of a situation they’re in. It only takes a few seconds for him to realize how tired he is, how completely and totally exhausted, down to his bones. The kind of tired that means he won’t actually sleep for a while, because his brain doesn’t even have the energy to shut his body down. 

“Hey, Sammy?”

“Mmm?”

“Never mind.”

“What is it, Dean?”

“It’s nothing. Just. These guys have it good.”

Sam freezes. “Sure,” he says cautiously. “Fame. Money.”

“Each other.” Dean says it so quietly Sam isn’t sure he heard him correctly at first. Maybe he’s as exhausted as Sam is. 

The bed dips as Dean rolls to his side, and Sam does the same, facing Dean from the other side of the huge bed, everything so strange and surreal that he’s got enough courage to look him in the eye. 

“I wonder what their life is really like.”

Dean looks at him like he’s pondering it, licks his lips in a gesture so familiar Sam almost feels like he’s a little kid again, sharing a motel bed with his big brother, and everything is just as it should be. “Me too. Like, here we are, fighting angels. What would they be doing? Coming home from some fancy dinner? Or fundraiser?”

Sam raises his eyebrows, so sleepy that he’s dangerously honest. “I think that it’s late enough they’d be doing more than that. You saw those videos.”

Dean closes his eyes, and Sam swears he can see the ghost of a smile on his face, even in the almost darkness of the bedroom. “Yeah.”

And here they are again. It’s not the first time they’ve flirted like this, not the first time Sam’s held his breath and wished he had the guts to do something, wished he knew how Dean would react if he did. The tension is as thick as it always is, pressing into Sam’s chest until his heart is beating with twice as much force just to keep his blood pumping through all the extra pressure. His hands are balled into fists under his pillow, or they’d be trembling. 

“There’s one thing that bothers me, though,” Dean whispers, not opening his eyes. 

Sam doesn’t dare close his eyes, wants to see everything Dean’s face has to offer right now. “What’s that?”

“It just seems, from those videos, that Jared was...the dominant one. A big overgrown puppy, not all serious like you, but still...it seemed like he was...the one in charge.”

A laugh punches out of Sam’s mouth before he can stop it. “ _ That’s _ what bothers you? We’re in an alternate universe where we aren’t ourselves, not sure how to get home, with who knows what after us, and you’re pissed because you’re...you’re a  _ bottom _ ?”

Dean cringes and flings a pillow into Sam’s face. “Don’t call me that. That makes it sound so...so…”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Dean. It’s duly noted how macho you are. Calm down.”

Dean catches Sam’s wrist just as he’s about to reach for another pillow to throw, squeezes hard enough that Sam’s breath catches in the back of his throat. “Damn straight,” he breathes, but his voice is all heat and no anger now.

“Dean,” Sam’s voice shakes, “what’re you…”

“If I were Jensen, I wouldn’t always be a bottom.”

Sam gives in right then. Not that he had any choice in the matter, or like he was putting up much of a fight. He’s been dreaming of Dean touching him, of Dean’s voice dropping just this low when he spoke, since he was old enough to have his first wet dream. “No?”

“No,” Dean says, fingers stroking over the pulse in Sam’s wrist now. “I’d want to be the one doing the fucking. What about you?”

Sam can’t think straight, can’t process the question. “What?”

“Would you be okay with topping all the time?”

For the millionth time in the last few hours, Sam’s heart races, only this time all the blood is going straight down, his cock fattening up so fast it hurts, makes his hand squeeze around Dean’s without thinking about it. 

“No, I wouldn’t,” he whispers.

“Why not?” Dean scoots closer, peers at Sam with hungry eyes that really want to know, that need an answer. 

“Dean...are you sure you...this is…”

“Not Dean.” There’s a wicked glint in Dean’s eye when he smirks. “Jensen, remember? And Jensen definitely wants to know the answer to that question.”

God, that shouldn’t be so hot, shouldn’t make this so fucking easy, but it does, and Sam slides over, close enough that there’s less than an inch between their bodies. Dean just watches him. “I wouldn’t want to top,” he says, taking a deep breath and biting his lower lip as he decides on just the right words, “because unlike you, I wanna get fucked.”

Dean’s tongue is peeking out through his parted lips, pink and rough, and Sam needs it, wants to feel it all over him. “Yeah?”

And then Dean’s...oh, God, Dean’s rolling on top of him, pushing Sam to his back, and his chest is pushing Sam down into the bed, one hand still wrapped around his wrist. Sam arches up into him, groans when Dean grabs his other wrist, pins both his arms down on either side of his head. “This what you want? To be pinned down and just take it?”

Sam nods, a whimper falling out of his mouth as he squirms, just to feel how he can’t really move. And Jesus, it’s too much, it’s  _ Dean _ on top of him. His whole body is screaming for it, for the one thing he’s never had, for the one person who can give it to him. 

“So,” Dean says, nudging Sam’s legs apart. Sam spreads them as fast as he can, makes room for Dean’s hips to snug up against his inner thighs, the place he’s been missing from Sam’s whole life. “You wanna just lie there and get that pretty little ass fucked into next week, and I wanna pound you so hard you can’t walk tomorrow.”

Sam’s cock jerks in his jeans, right against Dean’s, and fuck, that’s the most amazing thing he’s ever felt. “Yeah. The opposite of Jensen and Jared.”

Dean leans down, talks so close to Sam’s mouth that he can taste his breath. “Then I guess it’s a good thing we ain’t really them, isn’t it?”

Sam has imagined exactly this kiss a million different times in a million different ways, but never like this. Which doesn’t really matter, because all his fantasies were wrong, anyway. Nothing his own brain could come up with could ever be as good as Dean, lips so soft and warm against his, pressure exactly perfect, slotting over Sam’s like fitting puzzle pieces. Sam could never have known how wonderfully rough his tongue would be when it slipped out, licked at the seam of Sam’s lips to open them and slide inside. And he could never have been prepared for the surge inside of him when their tongues curled around each other, dancing together  _ so  _ so slowly, patiently, like they’d been waiting as long as Sam had and didn’t want to rush the moment. 

When Dean finally pulls away, he’s panting, face flushed, hands still in a death grip that won’t let Sam move his arms. “Jesus, Sammy,” he gasps. “I don’t know what-”

“Me neither,” Sam says, wrestling his arms free so he can wrap his arms around Dean’s neck, pull him back down because he never again wants to breathe air that isn’t from Dean’s own mouth. “It’s okay.”

Dean groans like he’s in pain, then pushes up and slides his hands under Sam’s t-shirt, pulling it over his head before taking off his own. “Those videos, Sammy...seeing you touch me, fuck. And the jealous face I made every time someone else looked at you, talked to you. It’s exactly how I feel inside all the time. Want you all to myself, Sam. Always have.”

This can’t be real. It can’t be. But Dean’s here, heavy and solid above him, smelling like sweat and salt, sounding like aged whiskey as those words pour out of that mouth, right against his throat. Jesusfuckingchrist it’s too much. 

Dean stops talking then, already said more than he probably meant to, and it’s so much more than Sam ever expected. Sam’s already got those words tucked away, memorized and kept forever in case Dean takes them back. 

And then he realizes Dean’s hands have moved, and are sliding down his sides, fumbling with the button of his jeans. Sam pushes his hands away and does it himself, sits up a little to kiss Dean while Dean unzips his own. It’s hard to pull apart enough for them to wiggle out of their jeans, but they manage, elbows jabbing and feet kicking until they are naked except for their socks, falling back down into the bed together. 

“ _ Dean _ ,” Sam gasps, arms slamming around him and pulling him close, feeling all that skin, all that heat and muscle against his own. 

“It’s okay, little brother. Just-just give me a minute.”

Dean presses his forehead against Sam’s and goes still, just breathing while Sam strokes over his back, exploring muscles he knows by sight, muscles he wants to know by feel. 

When his breathing calms a little, Dean moves, shifts his hips just a little, and their cocks brush together. Dean growls low in his throat, possessive and hungry, and Sam goes loose with the sensation, ready to soak it all in and let Dean take what he wants, because God he wants to give it to him. Wants to give him everything. 

“Tell me again what you want,” Dean says, licking over Sam’s pulse. 

“Want  _ you _ . Always wanted you.”

“Always?” Dean’s voice sounds like he’s in pain.

“Always.”

“Christ, Sammy.”

“Want you to take what you want. Want you to fuck me, Dean. Wanna feel your cock inside me. What do you want?”

Dean shudders and rubs their erections together again with a stuttering roll of his hips. “I wanna make you come. Wanna watch you come apart on my dick, make you scream for it.”

“Do it,” Sam says. “Please, Dean, fucking do it.”

Dean keeps his hips moving, keeps them rubbing together while Sam locks his legs around Dean’s waist, hands everywhere he can get them. 

“Wait,” Sam says in a moment of genius. “Wait. I wanna taste you first. Please?”

A sharp, broken noise, and Dean sits up, leans back and nods, whole body tense and rigid. Sam scrambles to his knees, bends down low, close enough that he can smell Dean’s skin, and stops. Is this really happening? Is that really Dean’s cock so close to his lips? What if he’s bad at this? 

But what if this is the only opportunity he gets?

Sam does his best to turn his brain off and just let his body take over. Because he wants to do this. Dean’s so close and he’s waiting for Sam to put his mouth on him and Sam’s finally allowed to do this, and he’s not wasting this moment. 

He feels a little dizzy as he runs his hands up Dean’s thighs, squeezing the thick muscle there, knowing that he’ll never be able to watch Dean walk again without getting hard imagining what his legs feel like. His tongue slides out, circles the head, and he moans around it for the taste of the drop of precome there, for the velvety softness of Dean’s skin. 

Hands are in his hair, pulling and tugging, but he doesn’t let Dean guide him, doesn’t move faster. He takes his time licking and tasting, does every dirty thing with his mouth that he’s saved just for Dean, that he’s only done in his mind, listening to Dean snore on the other side of a motel room while his mouth waters for it. 

“Fuck, Sammy, oh my God that’s so good.”

Sam pulls away with a wet sound, high with how wrecked Dean sounds. 

And then he lies back, reaches behind himself to grab the bars of the headboard, and spreads his legs again. “Fuck me, Dean.”

Dean growls again, pushes up on his knees to fall forward on top of Sam. “I, uh. I don’t…”

“There’s probably lube in the nightstand,” Sam says, not caring if he sounds slutty and too eager, because he absolutely feels that way right now. 

Dean nods, throat bobbing up and down as he swallows and leans over, pulls open the drawer of the bedside table and digs around. Sam waits, notices the picture next to the lamp. It’s the two of them in another lifetime, a happier one, Sam (Jared) kissing Dean’s (Jensen’s) cheek while standing on a beach. Sam saves that image with the words Dean said earlier, files it away to imagine when this is all over, when they get home and go back to...well, Sam doesn’t want to think about that right now. 

Everything moves too fast then. Dean’s got the lube, and he’s dripping it over his fingers, and then he’s touching Sam. Clumsy fingers search and press places they’ve never touched before, and it’s awkward and a little hesitant, but it’s Dean, and Sam needs it, needs to feel Dean inside of him. 

The first finger slides in, makes Sam gasp a little. The second makes him groan and rock his hips, and Dean finds his confidence, crooks his fingers and starts to thrust, slow and easy. “That what you want?”

“Not all of it,” Sam sighs, sinking his hips down and trying to take Dean’s fingers deeper. 

Dean smirks and kisses Sam’s lips just once. He scissors his fingers open, makes Sam’s eyes go wide with the stretch of it. 

“Come on, Dean,” Sam whines. “Want your cock, not your fingers.”

The breaths between them are hot and wet, mouths brushing together as Dean slicks his cock up and lines himself up. “Sam, I-”

“Just do it,” Sam says. “Thought you wanted to. Said you wanted to make it hard for me to walk tomorrow.”

That’s all Dean needs, and he’s pushing in, slow, but deep. It burns, hurts even, and Sam loves every bit of it, needs it, craves it. Dean doesn’t stop until he’s buried, until his balls are smashed against Sam and Sam’s cock is trapped between their stomachs. 

Sam wants to speak again, wants to tell Dean every last thing he’s been holding back, but he can’t, can’t talk around the ache inside of him, can’t talk around the sensation of being this full, this full of  _ Dean _ . 

All he can do is kiss Dean, dig his fingers into Dean’s back and hold on when he starts to move. 

Sam’s imagined Dean having sex before, always assumed Dean knew how to move his hips, but holy shit, this is so good it’s criminal. Dean moves at exactly the right speed, makes exactly the right noises, gives it to Sam exactly as hard as Sam wants it. Sam lies there, wrapped around his brother, and feels it, opens himself so that Dean can take it all. 

Dean fucks him until it doesn’t hurt anymore, until all he can feel is that deep pressure, those shuddery-sparks every time Dean thrusts, the ones that make his toes curl and pull small, girly noises out of his mouth. 

“Oh, God, Sammy, so good. I’m gonna...you’re too tight. I’m gonna come…”

Sam wants him to, needs him to. “Please,” he manages, and Dean grunts, pushes himself up enough to get a hand between them to wrap around Sam’s cock. 

Sam cries out when Dean squeezes, instantly comes all over Dean’s hand, all over both their stomachs, Dean’s name leaving his lips in an almost scream. Dean falls back down, face in Sam’s neck, and bites down on Sam’s pulse, almost breaking skin as he comes, hot and thick pulses Sam can feel marking him inside, burning him up. Claiming him. 

Lying there with Dean on top of him, cock still twitching with his orgasm, Sam comes back to himself, realizes what they’ve just done. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes, half-satisfied, half-panicked.

Dean groans and rolls to his side, but he doesn’t pull completely away, and he doesn’t look disgusted with himself. 

He looks  _ gorgeous _ , hair everywhere, sweaty and red. “Well. That was. Unexpected.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, afraid to say anything more. 

“Get some sleep?” Dean asks.

“Sure.”

It only takes a second for Dean to pull the blankets over them, and he leaves his arm thrown over Sam’s chest, their legs pressed together, his face close enough for Sam to feel his breath. That’s all Sam needs to know that it’s okay. 

They may never touch again. They may wake up tomorrow and pretend it never happened, go home and live their lives like this was just a really odd dream. 

But it’s okay. 

Dean wanted this tonight as much as he did, and no matter what happens tomorrow, neither one of them regrets it. 

It may not be a perfect ending, but that was never really their thing anyway. 

It’s good enough for Sam.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback is my lifeblood! XOXO


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